


Night will shield you

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Fluff and Angst, Incest, M/M, Present Tense, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It might not be pure or perfect or even right, but it’s what they have to work with, and Fíli wouldn’t trade it for the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night will shield you

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting to this site, so please let me know if I did anything wrong! Inspired by a Swedish song called "Natten Skyddar De Älskande" by Lisa Ekdahl and Lars Winnerbäck; feel free to ask me for a translation (I don't trust Google on these things)! It's a good song, and it fits them.

It’s been a long and uneventful day. There was a stream they had to cross, and a brief encounter with some jeering humans, but the orcs have not caught up with them and nobody has suffered any injury more serious than a shallow scratch. They’ve made camp near the edge of a low valley, shielded somewhat by a cluster of weeping willows. The ponies are munching serenely at the soft grass, warm from a day of sunshine, and the first stars are beginning to litter the sky. Somewhere in the distance there is the hoot of an owl. Gandalf is situated on a large rock, blowing smoke rings into the cool night air; the hobbit is hunched beside him.  
                             Fíli has laid out his bedroll and shrugged off his heavy coat. The worn leather has been bundled up into a makeshift pillow, and his weapons rest next to it. Inches from him, Kíli is gingerly placing his bow in the soft grass. He’s sitting with his legs crossed on his own bedroll, facing away from Fíli. This is how they’ve slept every night since they set out; side by side, flanked by their weapons should anything happen. Ready to defend the one thing that really matters.  
                             When the company has settled down and loud snores and slow breathing can be heard from most of the dwarves, they dare to creep closer. Fíli reaches out to ghost his fingers over Kíli’s knuckles, and with their bedrolls so close together it is barely movement at all. He tells himself they are invisible as Kíli smiles and catches his hand to press a soft, lingering kiss to it; he responds by stroking a calloused thumb over his brother’s stubbly cheek. Out on the road, this is all they ever have. They are in the company of several respected, tradition-bound elders – including their _uncle_ , for Aulë’s sake – as well as members of two other species whose customs they cannot be entirely sure about. It would not do to kiss in broad daylight. _They_ know it’s more than a phase, more than blood, more than they could possibly express; and it might not be pure or perfect or even _right_ , but it’s what they have to work with, and Fíli wouldn’t trade it for the world. It would be easier, he supposes, if Kíli were somebody he wasn’t related to; a pretty lass, maybe. But he isn’t, and it doesn’t matter – because whoever Kíli is, that’s who he wants. So their elders can glare and mutter, and their peers can pick fights and corner them in taverns; they’ll have each other.  
                             They crawl gradually closer together until the tips of their noses are touching in the dim half-light of the fire. They are a few paces away from the nearest bedroll – it belongs to Bofur, Fíli thinks, or Dwalin; he isn’t sure – and confident nobody is watching. Their fingers lace together, so tight, so tight, and it is a promise of _together_ and of _always_. Words have always been superfluous between them; Fíli looks into Kíli’s eyes now and he sees the world. The silence is perfect, and he feels it would be blasphemy to speak. As it is, they can’t – can’t make any noise at all, lest the others wake and see them – so they breathe each other’s air and they hold hands and they pretend it’s enough. They fall asleep like that, and at dawn when Thorin sees their faces serene and their hands joined he swallows his unease.


End file.
